


Carezzare

by dexstarr



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Banter, F/M, In Public, Pre-Episode: S03E01 Antipasto, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 02:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11614293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dexstarr/pseuds/dexstarr
Summary: The speaker is atrocious.Fortunately, Bedelia knows how to assuage their boredom.





	Carezzare

**Author's Note:**

> _Hannibal_ is not mine and no profit is made from this work. Written for [kmo's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kmo) Tumblr prompt of "public sex."
> 
> Thank you to [whiteberryx](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whiteberryx) for all the support and beta. ♥

The speaker is atrocious. 

Her Italian isn’t as good as her French, but even so, Bedelia can tell how often he’s wrong. The incredulous looks on the faces around her are a clue, as is the quiet ripple of laughter that whispers through the back rows. Hannibal wears his usual mask of indifference, only the restless tapping of his fingers on her upper arm giving away his irritation with the subpar speaker. 

Fortunately, there’s a way to assuage their boredom. 

Bedelia sits up straighter, leaning into the embrace of his arm on her shoulders. She looks at Hannibal, and is pleased when he smirks back at her. “Shall we?” he asks, and of course she nods, because Bedelia enjoys a challenge. 

Hannibal’s thumb caresses the side of her neck, light yet firm enough to not tickle. If they were in their flat, his mouth would be on her ear, teeth tugging her earring, tongue limning her earlobe. But they’re in public, and so his thumb is enough to send the remembered tingle of less controlled times through her. 

Bedelia keeps her attention on the people around them, now trying to spot the next lie before Hannibal does so she can get ahead in their competition. Her hand edges underneath the program on his lap. The last time they did this, she stopped just short of making an undignified mess for him. She doubts that will be the case today, but she can’t give in so early — it’s not in her nature. 

“That’s false,” Hannibal says before the lecturer is even finished with his latest sentence. Bedelia sighs at missing the opportunity for the first real strike, but she doesn’t terribly mind. His fingers walk across her shoulders and briefly ghost over the base of her neck. Thankfully she wore her hair pinned up tonight, because as much as she likes his hands in it, skin-to-skin is better with what they’re playing at right now. 

Refusing to give him any reaction, Bedelia continues to watch the other attendees, trying to parse the speaker’s current tangent through their expressions. She ends up having to make a guess — she _detests_ guessing — but if she doesn’t make a move, soon she won’t be able to make one at all. Hopefully they will visit France again, or another country where she has more than a basic grasp of the language. The back-and-forth is a part of the game, as pleasurable as the actual touching. 

“Incorrect,” she says, mouth twisting a little at the assumption. But her hand is steady, nails digging into Hannibal’s upper thigh through the layers of trousers and boxer briefs. 

He nods, granting that she is right, then asks, “That was a guess, wasn’t it?” 

“Perhaps.” Her breath hitches when Hannibal slides his hand further down her back and around to her waist. Bedelia knows what he wants now, but doesn’t give in right away. Instead, she presses down along his length, going as far as she can with her hand still hidden underneath the program for tonight’s talk. Fortunately, it’s a _large_ program — the speaker has a very high opinion of himself. 

Hannibal mirrors her gesture, his blunt nails scratching at the giving material of her skirt. “Next time I will pick an English speaker, as I know you like comparisons between modern and medieval artwork. I would not want you to miss out.” 

Bedelia turns her head enough to dismissively side-eye him. “I need no such advantage.” As if she would ever admit to having a similar thought; the last thing Hannibal needs to believe is that he’s a mind reader. He likely already thinks such a skill lies within his purview, but there’s no reason to give him more to crow about. 

“I merely want to ensure you enjoy the next lecture as much as I’m enjoying this one,” he says, in a low tone that won’t carry and is meant for her alone. Amusement glints in his eyes when she shivers at the particular stress he puts on “enjoying.” 

“I _am_ enjoying this one.” Bedelia clasps her hands over the one he has on her waist. A subtle push on her end, and Hannibal’s hand moves lower, slipping underneath the hem of her skirt. After perusing information on tonight’s lecture, she might have planned ahead by wearing a looser skirt than what she normally prefers. Bedelia adjusts the coat folded on her lap, somewhat camouflaging what he’s doing. The speaker could be saying truths, for all she knows, but now she lets Hannibal have control. She’s not giving in, she _wants_ it. 

His hand, so much larger than hers, covers the span of her upper thigh. Hannibal’s touch is startlingly warm in such an intimate spot. Bedelia is always jolted by how warm he is every time they touch. With his superior air and what he does, one would expect him to be precise and cold. But that’s far from the truth — Hannibal is precise, yet full of warmth. Much like the heat his sure confidence stokes within her. 

“Wrong again,” he purrs, mouth closer than it should be to her ear. He makes a noise of disappointment, warm breath whispering along her neck. Bedelia wishes his mouth was elsewhere, too busy to talk. “The Studiolo would flay this many alive if he dared present in front of them.” 

“I know only one man who is not afraid of the Studiolo,” she counters, shivering again at the warmth his hand is leaving behind. “A man who would play this very game beneath their noses.” 

“It certainly would make their meetings more bearable.” His skin is almost as soft as hers, except for the callous on his index finger and a healing scrape on his palm. She feels both of those rough spots as he inches up her inner thigh, fingers caressing a bite he left last night. 

Stuck between a snort and a moan, Bedelia bites her lip. She spreads her legs as much as she can without visibly moving, so that his fingers can curl against lace. It takes all of her control to not roll her hips or whimper when his thumb connects with just the right spot with just the right pressure. His movements are barely perceptible, but more than enough for her in this moment. 

She’s almost embarrassingly quick, but the middle of a room surrounded by people isn’t exactly the place to try and hold on. They take it to the edge almost more than she’s comfortable, but she can’t deny the mix of intellectual banter and fear of being caught is almost all she needs. The last bit is just the right sort of touch, which Hannibal has, of course, mastered. 

He’s smug about that, but Bedelia doesn’t mind, because he _is_ very good.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://galacticcoyote.tumblr.com/), prompts are welcome!


End file.
